


Predatory Acts

by JaneDavitt



Series: Predatory Acts [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Blood Drinking, Episode Related, F/M, First Time, M/M, Magic, Original Character Death(s), Possession
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-04-27
Updated: 2011-04-27
Packaged: 2017-10-18 17:56:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneDavitt/pseuds/JaneDavitt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An AU version of S1 episode 'The Pack'. A hyena-possessed Xander leaves the Bronze and meets Spike. It never happened - but don't you wish it had?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Green for beta reading.

April 1997. New Orleans.

In the past he had compared her skin to every white flower that ever blossomed, to snowfalls, doves and moonlight. Her pale cheeks had flushed delicately with pleasure; not at the words themselves, halting and trite as they were, but at the devotion and adoration in his low, husky voice. Now he looked at her and was silent. She was dying, caught in a slow slide back to the grave. Words could not change that and the rage built up in him every time he stroked her lank, tangled hair or kissed the hand that tried to find the strength to touch his face and failed.

“How did we come to this, love?” he asked her, despair making him cruel, “and why are you just letting it happen? Why won’t you feed? Why won’t you fight it? You want to leave me? Is that it?”

He was trembling now, stalking around the bedroom, hands squeezed into fists with nothing to hit. His anger would have excited her in the past; his jealous suspicion would have made her purr with satisfaction, but now she winced, her eyelids fluttering as his loud voice sent ripples of pain through her head. He saw her face pucker up and sank to his knees beside the bed, penitent and ashamed, resting his head against the soft quilt.

“My sweet boy,” she whispered. “You worry too much. I read the cards last night –”

His head jerked up sharply. “You promised me you wouldn’t! That’s why you’re so tired today. Why do you do it, Dru? It can’t help you, you know that.”

She shook her head, groping for his hand. “I felt the stars were in place; I had to know. They told me where I must go. You will go first to prepare the way and I will follow.” Her eyes sparked for a second, with a feverish light. “You will betray me – no, hush, you must. It’s needed. It will be for me that you do it, you’ll see. You’ll know when the time comes.”

“Dru! There’s never been any woman but you, you know that.” His voice was hurt but tinged with guilt. It had been so long since he had taken her – but he hadn’t given in. Hers until the second death, that’s what he was.

Her lips curved in a knowing smile. “I know that, my darling. No other woman. And now I’m hungry.”

“You are?” He jumped up eagerly, her words forgotten. “I got you something nice. Been keeping her quiet as a surprise. I’ll go and get her.”

He left the room and came back with a young girl, hands bound tightly behind her. Terror had robbed her of the strength to struggle and apathy was providing a merciful numbness as her heart beat out its final strokes. Spike dragged her over to Drusilla and laid her so that her neck was inches away from Drusilla’s mouth. Keeping her in position, he curled his arm around Drusilla’s thin shoulders, lifting her up. “Go on, love,” he urged. “Feed. Be strong.”

Drusilla’s face twisted and her fangs appeared. He smiled with encouragement and then sighed as she failed to bite hard enough to break the skin. “Let me help,” he said. The girl watched his handsome face alter and found breath for one gasped plea for mercy before he bit down, delicately, carefully. The warm blood flowed into his mouth and when it began to trickle down his chin he pulled away and bent to Dru, kissing her softly, letting the blood pour from his mouth to hers. He fed her like that until the girl died in his arms.

“Rest, pet,” he said, tenderly smoothing the covers over Drusilla, rejoicing in the faint flush of pink on her waxen face.

“I feel better,” she whispered. “Spike? What month is it?”

“It’s April, love, why?”

“Spring...the time when all that lives comes back to life again. Not my time. I’ll be well again in autumn, when everything is dying. But you must go there now, Spike. Promise me. Find out what it is I’ll need. Make sure there’s a place for us, a welcome mat laid.”

“You never told me where, love.”

“The Hellmouth, of course. Where else?”

Spike gaped at her in shock. “Sunnydale? Dru...you know what the Master said last time we went there.”

She tittered, the borrowed blood invigorating her. “Said you were a disgrace to the line.”

Spike looked sulky. “He said Angel and you had a lot to answer for when you made me and he trained me. Pillock.”

“He was pleased about the Slayer you killed,” she offered.

Spike brightened. “Yeah, I think he was...it was a good fight. Did I tell you how she had me and then the lights went out?”

Drusilla smiled, snuggling down and closing her eyes. “Yes...but you can tell me again. I like that story.”

“Well, I got her cornered on this subway train–”

 

April 1997. Sunnydale. Tuesday afternoon.

Xander walked down the corridor towards the hyena cage, resisting the urge to look back and see if Buffy and Willow were watching him with admiring glances. They probably weren’t, so if he didn’t look back he could imagine they were without feeling that he was being a complete loser.

”There is a method to my patheticness,” he muttered. The corridor opened out into a large area, fenced off at the far end. Four people, who really did deserve the label ‘loser’ and would have it tattooed on their foreheads if Xander were ever World Dictator, were holding Lance over the fence, and scaring the life out of him. Xander sighed. Some would say Lance asked for it, but he hated bullies with every fibre of his being. Vampires were worse and demons in general pushed them down to third on the list but still, yeah, bullies were bad. He should know.

He walked over a weird symbol painted on the concrete floor in a truly revolting shade of red, and grabbed at Lance, pulling him to safety. He was just enjoying some verbal sparring with Kyle when the world around him shifted.

The hyena growled –

And Xander wasn’t alone anymore.

***

Tuesday Night.

Xander left the Bronze, heart hammering with pleasure at that last vicious jab. Willow’s face...why had he never realised how exposed people were, how easy it was to bring them down with just a few words? And they were starting to fear him now – he watched in amusement as they scattered out of his way, the girls glancing at him appraisingly through down swept lashes; the boys just failing to meet his challenging stare.

Fun though it was, he wanted out. There was something stifling about the club tonight, something that made his throat close up as he was accidentally brushed by bodies that weren’t kin to him. Kyle and his friends were still in there but he had stayed away from them, still resisting the call to join them. They were his pack, yes, but they were still playing. Xander wanted to do more than play.

The alley beside the Bronze was dark, but not for him. Tonight his eyes twisted the blackness, squeezing out every droplet of light from the stars above and the streetlights below. He sniffed the air, raising his head to catch every message it brought him, a thousand whispers merging in a soft, cool breeze. The scents in this alley were singing to him, plucking at his sleeve and brushing his face. Blood, death, food; it stank of these things. He had never walked down it alone after sunset before.

Xander turned into the alley, quickly swallowed by the shadows, a giggle forcing its way between his lips. It was so funny to remember that he’d been scared to walk here. When a clump of shadows began to move, he carried on walking, lips twisted in a grin. Two shapes, writhing in a parody of affection, desperate moans and whimpers from one, a low growl from the other.

A feeding vampire. And he _still_ wasn’t scared. Just hungry. How funny was that?

***

Spike swallowed, and turned, an incredulous glare on his face. He had an audience? What was it with this town? He’d spent the day listening to stories about a new Slayer in town and too many hours negotiating safe passage with a minion of the Master’s. The ugly old bugger wouldn’t even see Spike face to face. Just passed on a warning that Spike was only allowed to feed once a night and he might find time to see him tomorrow. As if there was a shortage of food! He knew what the Master was trying to do; get Spike so angry that he left, or gave him an excuse to kill him. Temper rose within him and he threw a punch at the youth, his fist moving so fast it blurred. The boy just stood there, swaying out of the way of the blow, still with that stupid laugh bubbling out of his mouth.

“Do you mind?” Spike said acidly. “Some of us are trying not to get hiccups.” He cocked his head, studying the youth in front of him. Human, but with a tang of magic about him that made Spike feel a tremor of unease. The boy’s eyes...dark under thick eyebrows, eyes that looked at the world and saw a toy made to be broken and taken apart. Scary eyes. Familiar eyes.

“Is she dead?” The boy tried to sound indifferent but there was an edge of excitement roughening his words.

Drusilla’s eyes. Yes. The same wilfullness, the same indifference to anything that interfered with gaining pleasure or inflicting pain.

“Will be soon enough. Look, mate –”

The boy looked at him directly for an endless moment and Spike felt the stirrings of a lust too long unsatisfied. It might have ended there – not the time, not the place, and the boy was disturbing him on many levels – but the woman’s blood had sprayed over his face and the hand he had clamped over her gasping, gaping mouth. Without thinking, he brought his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean. The boy was close and he moved closer, capturing Spike’s wrist in strong fingers and bringing the stained fingers to his mouth.

Spike felt a tingling anticipation spread through his body at the first warm touch. Twisting within the boy’s grasp, he placed the palm of his hand over the lad’s mouth and nose, letting him take the scent of the blood. Spike was hard already, and as the warm breath sighed out to cover his hand, he had to bite his lip to cover the moan that rose from him.

“That’s right, boy,” he whispered, as a tongue lapped eagerly around his fingers. “That’s – hey!”

The dark eyes were blazing now and the grip on Spike’s wrist was painful. “Don’t call me that.”

Spike pursed his lips, his own temper rising. “Wasn’t planning on formal introductions, mate but whatever. My name’s Spike and my hobbies are biting people until they stop asking me not to and keeping up with the footie. You?”

The lad looked confused for a moment and Spike raised a cynical eyebrow. “Jones? Smith?”

“Xander.” The word was dragged out of him with difficulty, as though it was a word he’d known once but forgotten.

“Well, now we’re best friends, so let’s get on with it before we have company.”

The mood shivered, like a glass vibrating as a high note sounded. Just before it shattered, Xander’s grip loosened and he bent his head, drawn to the enticing scent of fresh blood. Spike felt the rasp of his tongue begin again and decided to speed up the cleaning. Parting Xander’s lips with his fingers, he slipped two fingers inside the furnace of his mouth. Xander seemed oblivious to the sensations he was evoking, intent only on the unfamiliar, intoxicating taste, but the process went on long after Spike’s fingers were bare of blood. Xander was sucking and biting, his tongue swirling around the cool fingers that had invaded his body so casually. Spike let it go on a moment longer before pulling them out. Xander’s eyes were glazed, less human than before and Spike wondered, fleetingly, just what had been done to him. Did it matter? Well, maybe. Spike didn’t fancy waking up all furry.

He’d forgotten the blood that lay in an intricate webbing across his cheek. Xander hadn’t. He leaned forward and nuzzled against Spike’s neck, making the vampire flinch before his arm came up to circle around Xander’s shoulders, pulling him closer. Xander’s busy tongue explored every contour of Spike’s face, finding and cleaning every dried droplet. His breath was blood scented and every exhalation was surrounding Spike with a cloud of mingled scents.

Finally, Xander began to pull back, his job done. Spike’s arm held him in place and his eyes, gleaming with arousal, told him wordlessly that he had gone too far to retreat. Spike’s other hand came up and his thumb traced a line across Xander’s eyebrow and down to the strong clean lines of his jaw. Finally, it hooked under his chin, tilting Xander’s head up slightly, exposing his throat.

“You scared I’m going to bite you, pet?” Spike said in a throaty, humming voice that wriggled inside every opening Xander’s body had and made itself at home.

Xander shook his head. He was scared but not because of that. He was frightened because his body wasn’t quite his any more. Forces were moving within him, reshaping emotions and desires, simplifying and refining all he was.

“It’s good to be a little scared, you know. I won’t mind.” The voice was insinuating now, mocking but not unfriendly. Xander wanted it to stop it talking. He was having trouble with words; trouble making them fit what was inside his mind. He was shedding concepts as a snake sheds skin and he had a feeling that if he thought about what he was doing he might find a reason to stop. He didn’t want to stop.

“Going to have you now. Last chance to run. I’ll catch you, of course, but I’ll let you try.”

Xander grinned, feeling assurance flood back, as though the very idea of running away had freed him from fear. It was his lips that took Spike’s, a simple hard press of skin on skin at first. He’d kissed girls before – not many, but some. They had giggled, noses and teeth bumping his own awkwardly, mouths gaping like foolish fish. He had done his best to match their movements but he couldn’t say that it had been as much fun as he’d expected. This was different. The lips against his were cool and firm, opening up just enough to let their tongues meet. The kiss deepened and suddenly Xander was moaning, little whimpering noises, wrapping his arms around Spike, feeling Spike’s hands move down his back, palms flat, stroking him through his cotton shirt. The hands pulled impatiently and his shirt came untucked. When Spike’s hands slid against his skin Xander felt his hips jerk forward reflexively. When the vampire’s nails scored his back, raking it from shoulder blades to waist, he threw back his head and howled, the sound torn from him, leaving him emptier of humanity than he had been before.

Spike laughed, eyes sparkling with appreciation. This was going to make up for the long journey and all the crawling he’d had to do. The lad was such an intriguing mix of naivety and lust. No time to teach him much, but Spike decided that he wanted more than he could take in an alley. He thought of Drusilla but she was far away and this – this was nothing. It didn’t count.

“Listen, mate. This place is going to be crawling soon when they kick the kiddies out of that club. Let’s go somewhere quieter.” Spike caught Xander’s arm and tugged at him.

Xander annoyed him by looking down at the body on the floor, hesitating at the thought of leaving her. The woman was starting to move, her hands groping, scrabbling pathetically against the ground. Spike cursed mildly and went to her, dropping to his knees and looking up at Xander. “Come on then – do it fast.”

Xander fell to his knees beside Spike, head tilting as he looked at the woman. “She’s dying...”

“Yeah, think I took a bit much. She’s not going to make it.” Spike’s fangs flashed as he grinned. “Be a kindness to put her out of her misery.” With a swift, practiced, movement he bent his head and tore out her throat, drinking for a moment before thrusting her at Xander.

Xander stared at him, the body of the woman lying across his thighs. “You’re sharing food with me,” he said slowly. “Why? You’re not one of my pack.”

“Don’t know what you mean, pet, but we’re the same. Can’t you see it?”

“I’m not a vampire.”

Spike’s eyebrows lifted, his mouth expressive. “You’re a human with something else inside you. You want blood. I’m a vampire with a demon who wants it too. When the sun rises it might be different but tonight, right here, right now – we’re the same.”

Xander looked down at the body. “She smells good.”

“Sure she does. And she’ll taste better. Feed.”

And Xander did. He was drawn to the wound Spike had left, the skin already opened by teeth so much sharper than his own. He worried away at the flesh, ripping off shreds, feeling the cooling blood gloss his lips and coat his fingers. Spike stood guard, a little disdainful but approving. The boy wasn’t exactly neat but there was something exciting about watching him. Spike wondered if he would have cared if the woman were still alive. Probably not.

Xander was lost in an experience so intense that it left no room for any emotion other than pleasure. When Spike’s hand fell onto his shoulder, shaking him roughly and then pulling him away from his meal, he growled angrily, baring his teeth.

“Someone’s coming and best we get the hell out,” Spike said. “I promised someone I wouldn’t hunt more than once a night while I was here and he’s not the sort of person you disappoint. Come _on_ ”

Xander was still resisting, snarling and trying to carry on feeding, when suddenly he went very still, his face turned towards the high, light voice of one of the people approaching.

“Buffy, are you sure Xander came down here? On his own? I mean, even with you here, I’m all terrified and –”

Xander sprang to his feet and looked around wildly. Spike’s eyes narrowed but he didn’t waste time asking questions. They left just as Buffy and Willow arrived, the sound of their footsteps drowned by Willow’s scream as she stumbled over the body.


	2. Chapter 2

Xander didn’t talk at all until they arrived at the windowless basement room Spike had rented for the time he was in Sunnydale. It should have felt claustrophobic but instead it was surprisingly cosy. A cave or a coffin? Either way, it was sanctuary for both of them.

Spike closed the door and flipped the lock before walking over to a table holding glasses and two bottles. He poured out some vodka, splashing the liquid into a tumbler with a generous hand. Xander was standing, staring at nothing when he felt the glass shoved into his hand.

“Drink this and start talking,” Spike said. “I’m still in the mood to be entertained but I want to know what you are first.”

Xander took a cautious sip and choked as it burned his throat. Spike sighed impatiently. “Not got anything to go with it,” he said. “Vampires; not known for our skill with a cocktail shaker, you know. You’re lucky I get a taste for something other than blood now and then.”

Xander felt his legs begin to give way as the need to sleep overcame him. His stomach was full for the first time in hours; he was safe, and his eyelids were weighted with a drowsy contentment. He made it to the bed in a controlled stagger, brushing past a startled Spike, and fell asleep at once, the glass dropping from his hand.

Spike watched him in disbelief. The bugger was out cold. And taking up more than his fair share of the bed. He poured himself a drink, kicked Xander unceremoniously to the floor and flopped onto the bed, reaching out for the remote. He had no desire to go out again. The streets would be full of spies for the Master, only too keen to get him into trouble. He wasn’t all that popular with the minions. Strange, that. Or possibly not, as he’d been the cause of more than a few of them dying in the past. Word got around.

When he’d discovered that there was nothing at all of interest to watch he took a long sip of his drink, put it down on the night table and rolled over to look down at his comatose guest. A grin lit up his face like a candle illuminating a jack o’ lantern carved by Satan. Well, he had _something_ to play with at least.

As the sleepiness that followed feeding wore off, Xander woke up, stretching out lazily, eyes still shut. There was a metallic jangle and he froze, trying to identify the unfamiliar noise. Flight or fight – which was best? Opening his eyes he saw that he was still in the basement room, still with his new companion and neither option was available. There had been some changes while he slept. He was naked now, his clothes in an untidy heap by the door. That would have bothered him yesterday, but now he felt more concern over the fact that he was cuffed to the bed frame, his arms spread uncomfortably wide.

Spike was sitting cross legged at the foot of the bed, his hands wrapped around Xander’s ankles possessively. He was partially stripped, his torso palely gleaming in the light of two lamps, one beside the bed, the other on the table with the bottles. He still wore black jeans, clinging needily to his thighs, but his feet were bare. The animal in Xander panicked and he began to thrash, pulling down hard with all his strength, trying to snap the cuffs. The metal headboard creaked but held, as did the cuffs. Pain flared in his muscles and he felt the skin on his wrists begin to chafe against the metal. He managed to jerk his feet free and send Spike off the bed in an undignified scramble as the vampire avoided his frantic kicks, but he couldn’t release himself.

“Calm down,” Spike advised from the carpet. “I’ll let you go when you’ve answered a few questions.” Xander heard his words but they made no sense. He was trapped; held down, fear choking him, robbing him of all rationality.

Spike glared at him. “I _said_ , stop it.” His voice was cold now, each word a threat. Recovering his grace, he stood up in one effortless movement and walked to the head of the bed. Grim-faced, he bent and gripped Xander by the throat, squeezing hard. The pain brought Xander back to himself as words could not, and he made an effort to relax and lie still, placating the creature who was controlling him. The pressure eased and Spike knelt by the bed and laid his lips gently against the red marks his fingers had made for a fleeting second. Xander felt a tremor run through him at the brush of those lips, remembering the kiss in the alley.

“That’s better,” Spike murmured, with an approving pat on Xander’s shoulder. “Can’t play till I know. Not safe.” He grinned, sitting back on his heels and looking at Xander. “So what’s a nice little human like you doing eating people? And no need to make it a long story.” He ran an appraising hand down Xander’s flank and chuckled. “Looks like you agree with me that there’re better things we could be doing.”

Looking down his body to an erection that was practically sitting up and begging – not to mention drooling – Xander had to agree.

***

When Xander had finished talking, his words halting and laboured as he fought to explain what he didn’t comprehend, Spike looked uneasy. “So, this pack of yours can track you? Don’t really want visitors.”

Xander shrugged. “I don’t know if they will or not. I’m still not –” He paused. He still wasn’t one of them, not wholly, but it hurt to admit it. Before the change they’d already been a pack. He was one of them by chance and he had been on the outskirts, his motivations far different from theirs when he walked into the hyenas’ cage. The change was working on him in different ways because of that. He felt anguish that still, _still_ he was an outsider. They would stay away until he called to them and at the moment he didn’t want them. Spike had fed him, had captured him. The vampire was alpha in Xander’s eyes and Xander didn’t want his pack to see him like this for fear of losing their fragile trust. If he concentrated he could feel their thoughts dimly. They had finished with the Bronze and they were going home, scattering for the night through habit. By tomorrow the change would have bitten too deeply for them to part again but tonight enough humanity remained to allow routine to supercede instinct.

“They won’t look for me tonight,” he said with certainty.

“Good. Well, I don’t know what happened to you exactly, or if it’ll last, but it doesn’t sound catching. Not like something bit you.”

Xander craned his head to look at Spike who had walked to the end of the bed and was casually peeling off his jeans, his back turned to him. “It doesn’t bother you? That I’m ...possessed?”

Spike turned his head and Xander saw his vampire face appear and then fade away. “What do you think?”

Xander lay unmoving as Spike sauntered over and began to undo the cuffs. “Could you – could you leave them on?” he whispered, his voice plaintive. The restraints freed him, he saw that now. Without them he would have to fight or leave and he didn’t want to do either. With them he could stay; guiltless, helpless...but the conflict in his mind was crippling him. He wanted what Spike was offering, craved it as he had the woman’s blood, but the idea of being weakest was frightening. The weak died first.

Spike shook his head. “No.”

“Why not?”

The eyes that stared down into his were awash with many emotions but not one of them was mercy. “Because everything you do to me and let me do to you is going to be your choice. You don’t get to console yourself with the thought you couldn’t help yourself.” Spike took the second cuff off and held the curved metal in his hand, weighing them as he watched Xander try to think this through. Then he hurled them away and sprawled on his back beside Xander, arms crossed behind his head.

“Go on, then,” he said lazily. “Get started.”

Xander moved to kneel beside Spike, looking down at the slender, strong body. He reached out a hesitant hand, letting it hover above the waiting flesh and swallowed. Spike frowned. “If you’re trying to wind me up – oh God, I don’t believe it.”

“What?” Xander said, feeling confusion fog his mind.

Spike sat up, poking Xander in the chest as he spoke. “You – are – a – virgin. A possessed, under age virgin. Fucking you is corruption of a minor, not to mention bestiality and the whole loss of innocence bit.” He threw back his head and shouted with laughter. “You know that saying about being illegal in fifteen states or whatever? Fucking you is illegal world bloody wide mate, for one reason or another. I love it!” He paused and looked at Xander’s stricken face. “Ah, come here, pet. I’ll show you what to do.”


	3. Chapter 3

Xander’s head came up sharply. “I don’t need you telling me anything,” he said, the uncertainty in his voice contradicting his words. “I’m just not sure I want to –”

“Not sure you want to fuck the undead your first time out?”

Xander shrugged. “Had my eye on someone else.”

Spike frowned, puzzled at the way that made him feel. Possessive jealousy wasn’t new to him; watching Dru flirt her way across every continent did that to a man, but he barely knew Xander after all. “This someone else - another bloke?” he asked casually, leaning back on the bed and pushing the pillows up behind his head. He watched Xander try to lie, a grin twitching his lips. The boy was so bad at it, it was funny.

“A – no! Girl. She’s a girl. Woman. She’s mine. I knew it from the moment I saw her.”

“How very romantic,” drawled Spike, rolling his eyes. “And is she going to like the new improved version that eats dying women, or will that make seducing her just that little bit –”

Xander flung himself at Spike, hands reaching out for his throat, anger revealing the animal as wrapping paper torn away shows the gift inside. Spike let him do it, laughing helplessly. “Can’t kill me that way, pet,” he choked. “And you’re leaving yourself open.”

He proved his point by digging his nails into Xander’s balls, making him cry out with shock and pain. His hands slipped away from Spike’s neck and he reached down but Spike’s grip slackened at once. Spike waited until he was sure Xander’s rage had died away and then his hand began to stroke instead, moving higher, gripping and pumping until Xander’s eyes closed and his teeth bit into his lip.

“Feels better than you thought? Someone else doing it for you? Doesn’t really matter whose hand it is, does it. You’re so randy you’d come if it was me, or your girl, or just about anyone. But you want it to be me because I’m like you, aren’t I? And I’ll make it good, pet.” His hand never stopped moving as he rolled Xander onto his back, propping himself up on an elbow and flinging one long leg over Xander’s thigh, holding him still. Xander’s hands reached out, blindly searching, and Spike shifted so that his own cock was within reach. Xander took it and began to work it awkwardly, unable to get a rhythm. Spike moved on top of him, his mouth hungry against Xander’s, his body like a cool sheet on a hot night.

It had been months since Spike had made love and even then Drusilla had been so fragile that he had hardly dared to move once he was inside her. He knew he was hurting Xander, knew that no matter what strength the animal spirit was giving him, a human body was too breakable to withstand a vampire’s pleasure...but he didn’t hold back. Much. Xander might have begged him to stop, but his mouth was busy and he’d waited so long for this –

Time slowed after they came for the first time, after they had the taste of each other’s come in their mouth, the smell of it on their fingers, the sounds of each other’s climax in their ears. They lay motionless, not done, just waiting. Blood trickled down their bodies from a dozen cuts and bites, lips were swollen and full from kisses that had bruised as much as they caressed and they were both still hard, still ready.

Xander reached out a finger and laid it against Spike’s mouth, brushing it against lips he’d torn with his teeth until they bled, just so that he could lick them clean. Spike pursed his lips in a mockery of a kiss, eyes glinting with challenge. Xander grinned back, feeling relaxed and wanting more.

If he’d still been capable of abstract thought that would have puzzled him. He’d just had wild, rough sex with a vampire. A male vampire. An hour or so after eating human flesh. Relaxed? He should have been curled up in the corner shaking. Dimly he sensed that, but it didn’t seem relevant. The body beside him, stretching out with a languid, feline grace, was enough to wipe his mind clear of anything but a humming lust, buzzing in his ears, raising the hair on his body in an atavistic response. Curiosity filled him and he leaned in, snuffling at Spike’s neck and making the vampire laugh, tasting and smelling every hollow on the sleekly muscled body, committing them to memory.

He stopped and ran his finger over Spike’s body, feather touches, tickling and teasing until Spike moaned, hips lifting off the bed just a fraction of an inch. His hand locked around the base of Spike’s cock, lifting it from where it lay against his flat stomach. Dipping his head he licked at it, tonguing it roughly, enjoying the way it felt inside his mouth. The contrast of the hardness at the core and the thin, delicate skin surrounding it was fascinating. He drew it inside as far as he could, catching the flesh with his teeth, inexperience and eagerness combining to make him clumsy. Spike hissed with pain and Xander did it again, this time on purpose, his ardour edged with a cruelty as inherent and impersonal as a child’s.

Xander wanted more than a hand coaxing him to climax now and his own erection was demanding attention. Abandoning Spike’s cock abruptly he moved up his body until he was straddling Spike’s chest. Slipping his hand behind the blond head, he raised it, shoving pillows behind it to support Spike’s neck. Holding his cock, feeling its familiar weight against his palm, he moved so that it was just out of reach of Spike’s lips. Power was tingling through him, raw and rich. When Spike opened his lips, waiting, ready, he didn’t hesitate.

It had been a while since Spike had done this and never with someone so new, someone who didn’t care that his rapid deep thrusts gave his partner no chance to breathe or to swallow. Xander might have been forgiven for thinking that a vampire didn’t need that luxury but Spike was willing to bet it hadn’t even crossed his mind. Xander was lost in pleasure, as he had been when he fed from the woman. Spike had ceased to exist for him, apart from his mouth, and Xander’s eyes were squeezed tight shut, oblivious to anything but what that mouth was doing to him.

Spike endured it, fury bubbling up inside him. His hands were free and he began to use them, gripping Xander’s hips to try and control his violent thrusts, listening to the harsh gasps as Xander built up to a solitary, selfish, climax. He could have thrown Xander off him, could have bitten down hard and punished him, but he was paying for his earlier pleasure, paying for his betrayal of Drusilla and part of him welcomed the discomfort.

Xander came at last when Spike lost patience and pushed a finger knuckle deep inside him, brutally fast and hard. Xander cried out, his cock slipping free of Spike’s bruised lips, and came, covering the vampire’s face with sticky wetness. Spike pulled his finger free and turned his face into the pillow to wipe it clean. Xander moved off him and looked down, his eyes hazy with pleasure, empty of guilt. He saw that Spike was still hard and reached out for him but Spike’s hand swept out, knocking Xander away from him.

Xander stared at him, startled out of his euphoria. “Don’t you want me to -?”

Spike stood up his face passionless and cold. “I don’t want anything from you.”

He walked to the bathroom and slammed the door shut. Xander heard the screech of a tap being turned and then the hiss of a shower. He ran his fingers through sweat-damp hair, watching the door, perplexity clouding his face. Standing up on legs still shaky, he walked to the door and turned the handle. It wasn’t locked and he pushed it open and went inside. The room was small, with a shower over the tub. There was a plastic shower curtain with a dolphin theme but Spike hadn’t bothered to pull it. Spray was drifting out and wetting the tiled floor making it slippery underfoot. Spike was standing, head bent, one arm stretched out, hand flat against the back wall, bracing himself. The water was pounding the back of his neck, hitting the bare skin and cascading down the long curve of his back. Spike’s other hand was around his cock and he was jacking off as if it was a job that needed doing, as exciting a task as flossing.

Xander took one step and Spike said, “Out”, his hand still busy, his face grim. Xander ignored him and took another step. In that room, it was enough to bring him close enough to touch Spike. He reached out his hand and Spike spun around, grabbing him by the throat with the hand that had been against the wall. His eyes were dull with tears, threatening to spill down a face contorted with loathing. The animal in Xander knew fear and began to panic. Spike stepped out of the bath, pushing Xander backwards, and thrust him towards the door.

Xander’s bare feet skidded on the tiles and he fell to the floor, landing heavily on his back. Spike watched him impassively, having released his hold on him as soon as he began to fall. He rolled onto his front and Spike pounced. Xander was pushed down against the tiled floor, a sleek damp weight against his back, a hard cock prodding against him. He felt him start to push inside with one savage, shallow thrust that pulled a scream of pain from him. Spike hesitated. He knew that sound of despairing violation. It had come from his throat in the past. He couldn’t do it. The weight left Xander abruptly and from the floor he watched Spike walk past him to the table and reach for a bottle of vodka.

Xander sighed, resting his face against the floor for a moment before getting to his feet. He was confused, angry, and now that the lust had simmered down, he was aching and sore, but he could see that Spike was distraught and that bothered him. He’d enjoyed hurting people in the Bronze, watching them flush with embarrassment as he derided their bodies, their clothes, their dates or lack of them. They weren’t in the pack. Spike wasn’t either, not really, but he was strong, they had shared food and sex and Xander saw him as an equal. Within the pack, giving comfort was expected. They were one. What hurt one, hurt all.

He pulled a towel off the rack and walked over to Spike, who turned away silently, putting the bottle back on the table. Ignoring the rejection, Xander began to dry Spike with the towel, starting with his shoulders. Spike flinched at the first touch and then stood still, head bowed. Xander didn’t make more of it than it needed, didn’t try to turn it into foreplay. It was as instinctive as a cat washing the face of his litter mate. He rubbed the soft towel over damp, smooth flesh, standing behind Spike as he dried his neck and back carefully. He towelled each arm and then went to his knees so he could reach Spike’s backside and legs, eyes level with flesh marked by his own teeth and nails in a dozen different places.

Then he stood and walked around to face Spike. He began with Spike’s chest, scrubbing at the defined muscles with a distant admiration. When he went to his knees again he didn’t ignore Spike’s cock, hanging heavy now, but he didn’t linger over it. He stood again and looked at Spike’s hair. It was almost dry so he settled for giving it a brisk rub, tousling it up into curls.

Spike’s head jerked up. “Watch it!”

Xander stepped back, hands raised in automatic placation. Spike’s face softened for a second and he sighed, smoothing his hair down. “Not your fault, mate,” he said. “Well, partly your fault for being such a selfish bastard –”

“Huh?”

Spike glared at him half heartedly. “Get a blow up doll, next time,” he advised. “They don’t care if you’re just using them to get off.”

Xander flushed. “I’m sorry.”

“Liar. You had a great time. But if you want seconds, you might want to reconsider your technique in the future. Some advice? When there’s a set of teeth around your dick, it’s not a good idea to piss off the bloke who owns them.”

Xander winced but Spike waved a magnanimous hand and carried on. “Not really you that’s got me worked up. It’s Dru. My girlfriend. Do you know how long I’ve been faithful to her? Years, mate. Bloody decades.”

Xander felt vaguely flattered. “So I’m the first person you’ve had sex with, apart from her, in like a century?”

Spike snorted. “Not likely! But she was there watching, or she set it up. Not the same. This is behind her back and if I tell her, it’d hurt her. She’s hurt enough, is my princess. But she’s got this thing, see? She looks inside you. Literally with some of ‘em and she can pull things out of your mind –”

“Are we still being literal here?”

“Sometimes.”

Xander threw the towel in the direction of the bathroom and sat down on the bed. “So, why me?” he asked. “And sorry that you’re going to die horribly and it wasn’t much fun, by the way.”

Spike arched an eyebrow with pretended surprise. “What makes you think Dru’s going to blame _me_?” he asked.

Xander thought about that. It should have scared him but it didn’t. It was too remote a threat. The here and the now; that was all that mattered and it was more than enough for him to deal with.

“And I don’t know what you’re like as a human but you’ve got...possibilities the way you are now. Trust me, you’re too tasty to leave on the plate.”

Xander swallowed. Spike’s voice was like an extension of his hands. It was soft, suggestive and it made him shiver and quiver. He was finding that he responded less to what Spike said than his tone. The hard edged voice made him feel like whining in supplication, the velvet sheathed one made him want to squirm and beg.

“If she tries to hurt me, Buffy will stake her,” he said, discovering that even with a hyena’s soul his mouth still said deeply stupid things. Spike stiffened in every body part but one. Xander could almost see the pieces slotting together and he began to scramble away from the slowly advancing vampire, every sense he had telling him that he’d just made a bad mistake.

“Girl in the alley was calling to a Buffy and you took off like a greyhound who’s spotted the rabbit.” One step. “All the demons are talking about in the bars is the new Slayer.” Another step. “Seems she’s called Buffy too.” Last step. Spike’s face was inches away, his eyes flat, like scribbled blue crayon in a paper white face. “You’re friends with the Slayer aren’t you.” It wasn’t ever a question.

Spike’s fist moved too fast to avoid and Xander’s head slammed back against the door. Spike saw him slump down unconscious and pursed his lips. “Sorry, mate, but you just moved from being a treat to being bait.” He sighed. Dressing a limp body was a bugger but he couldn’t carry him through the streets like this. Marvelling over Xander’s taste in boxer shorts – glow in the dark reindeers with red noses – he began to dress him, ready for the trip to the Master’s lair.


	4. Chapter 4

Spike hesitated, one hand on the door, the other gripping Xander’s shirt. It had taken him a while to dress Xander and he’d had time to reconsider his initial strategy. That was a rarity for Spike. He tended to make a plan and execute it without second thoughts. If the plan didn’t work he made another. Eventually the problem went away, usually because everyone who had been a problem was dead. It was messy, but effective.

He had been going to offer Xander to the Master; the perfect lure for the Slayer. In return, he wanted the use of Dalton for a while. Dalton, a thin, balding vampire who looked meekly at the world through old fashioned glasses, would have been dust decades ago were it not for his skills in translating arcane texts and doing research into prophecies and portents. He was invaluable but the Master owned him. Only a prize like a Slayer would persuade him to release Dalton from his task of looking for ways to free the Master and look for a cure for Drusilla instead.

That idea was still a good one but it would end with Xander’s inevitable death and Spike wasn’t sure he wanted that. He remembered Xander’s face as he bent to lick the blood from his hand, intent and serious, and his fist clenched in a reflexive spasm, as it had done around the boy’s neck. He wasn’t done with Xander. He wanted to see him fight the hyena until it was under his control; he’d sensed that it wasn’t, not yet. He wanted to tame the animal without breaking the boy and enjoy them both. As a human, he’d been denied a lot of his dreams, as a vampire, never. Eternity could get dull and Xander would be entertaining for a while.

He thought about turning him, wondering what he would be like as a vampire, and then shrugged. Xander already had the blood lust, the cruelty and an alien soul. What would be the point? Besides, an ally who could move around in the sunlight would be useful. Dru probably wouldn’t mind. She might take one of her fancies to him – Spike’s thoughts broke off abruptly. The Slayer. He didn’t know her, and he’d never heard of a Slayer having people close to her before, but if the boy was telling the truth, this Slayer might not abandon him, even after what had happened. Or she’d hunt him down and kill him fast out of kindness. That was about as kind as a Slayer got to a demon.

Spike sighed, leaning his head against the wall and resisting the urge to bang it hard against the plaster. It was getting complicated. “All I wanted was a bloody shag,” he muttered. “This stupid, fucking town. People turning into hyenas, Slayers getting pally with the plebs, politicians who’ve sold their souls – well, maybe that’s not just in Sunnydale.”

Xander stirred restlessly and Spike drew back his foot, intending to kick him back into unconsciousness but found he couldn’t. The boy looked so helpless. Xander moved again, his eyes opening slowly. He squinted up at Spike and held out his hand in a wordless request to be pulled to his feet. Spike took it, feeling a tingle as their palms met, and hauled Xander up. Xander was heavier than he expected and his weight pulled Spike off balance. With a snarling smile, Xander ploughed his fist into Spike’s stomach, doubling him over.

“Bloody hell!” said Spike, staggering backwards. “Mate, listen –”

“You betrayed me,” Xander said, each word weighed down with hurt and disillusionment. “We were pack and you were going to –”

“I was going to use you to save the woman I’ve loved for five times longer than you’ve been sucking in air. Don’t expect me to feel guilty about that.” Spike’s face was so still now that it reminded Xander of an action figure; perfect, plastic, dead.

Xander shook for a moment, trembling with reaction. Spike stepped towards him, his open hand extended. To Xander the hand seemed to waver as though a heat haze surrounded it. Silly. It was a cold hand, a dead hand. His eyes moved upwards and met Spike’s. Those eyes weren’t dead. There was pain in their depths, an ineffable weariness. Even human, Xander would have been uncomfortable with the charged emotions sparking in the air. As he was, he took refuge in the cruelty that ran through him as a pattern runs through fabric. He laughed in the vampire’s face, watching the pain vanish as anger replaced it. Anger he could deal with.

“They’re coming for me,” he said. “Once you hurt me, they knew. They’ll be here soon.”

Spike sneered. “Your little puppy pals don’t scare me. What are they going to do, piss on my shoe?”

Xander’s eyes were distant now, as though he were listening to something far away. He turned, pulled open the door and ran up the short flight of stairs to the back street. Standing in the open, he threw back his head and howled a shrieking, arrogant cry to his pack. Spike cursed, locking the door to buy some time. Five humans he could have handled. Five humans with Xander’s ruthless strength might be a handful. Moving quickly, he kicked the bed aside, lifted the trap door leading to the sewers and disappeared into their noisome depths.

Never sleep where there’s only one exit, especially if it only leads to the outdoors. Good rule for a vampire and one that had saved him more than once. “But you better watch your back, Xander,” he muttered as he twitched his long coat out of the way of a patch of dripping mould. “You owe me and I don’t plan to forget it.”

He hesitated at the junction of three tunnels, getting his bearings, and then strode off. Time to call in some favours.

***

Xander’s pack mates found him soon. They surrounded him, fingering his bruises, making little whimpering noises of comfort, easing his sadness. They went with him to Spike’s room but they could tell that it was empty before they broke down the door. The scent of sex lay heavy in the air and they looked suspiciously at Xander. With a new found certainty he ordered them to leave, to go home, and to meet him at school the next day. They protested, but he was adamant.

School was where Buffy would be.

***

Wednesday Night.

The spell was broken and Xander felt the hyena spirit leave him. He staggered, silently screaming in pain at what he had lost. Memories flooded back, this time unfiltered through an alien intelligence. He fell to his knees.

“Xander! Are you hurt?” Willow exclaimed, ignoring the fact that she’d just come within moments of having her throat cut.

Xander’s lie was instinctive. “I don’t remember...what are we doing here? Is the trip over?”

Willow looked at Buffy and Giles, swallowing. She laid a soft hand on his. “It’s over,” she said. “W-we can fill you in on what’s happened later. It’s all over now.”

He let them lead him away, listened to their story with artfully raised eyebrows and gaping mouth, apologised profusely to Buffy and was forgiven – and avoided Giles’ ironic but sympathetic looks. Giles knew but he wouldn’t tell. He understood that it hadn’t been Xander who did all those things.

It was all over.

***

Thursday Night

Xander waved goodbye to Willow and Buffy and walked away towards his house. It had been good to go to the Bronze, get back to normal. There had been a few odd glances from people he’d insulted, girls who didn’t understand how he’d gone from loser to sexy and back again but the Hellmouth factor was kicking in. Flutie’s death was the big news and he wasn’t involved in that. He had a lot to think about but that was one memory that he didn’t have playing over in his head in full technicolour. He had three others to haunt him instead.

That woman in the alley. He gritted his teeth, swallowing. He would _not_ throw up again. The taste had gone, drowned by mouthwash and gum. His hands were clean. He hadn’t killed her...the vampire had. He refused to think about that, moving on to the second memory.

Trying to rape Buffy. Watching the fear in her eyes, then getting comprehensively beaten up by her. A Slayer was tough. He’d never realised quite how tough before. It meant that any chance he’d had with Buffy had just gone out the window but at least he hadn’t done more than scare her. It wasn’t as if they’d had sex...which brought him back to the vampire again.

Memory three was the worst. it shouldn’t have been. Eating human flesh, trying to rape someone; they should have ranked higher on the guilt meter than sex. Even if it was with a vampire. “I am not gay,” he muttered. “I went right out there and tried to rape Buffy. That proves that I’m – the biggest jerk in history.”

He sighed. He hadn’t been lying entirely when he said he couldn’t remember. The memories were there and the guilt was intense but they seemed far away, like the recollection of a dream. They were fading and he took comfort in that. He’d been possessed. Happened all the time. Not his fault. Could have happened to anyone and it would have been just the same. No way to fight back.

“I would get possessed by a gay hyena,” he said aloud.

The figure following him shook with silent laughter. Spike was close enough to hear Xander’s soliloquy. The demon he’d paid to follow the boy in the daylight had passed on the news that the possession had ended, much to his annoyance, but he decided he wanted to see how the lad was taking it.

Xander was almost at his house when an arm snaked around his neck and a voice whispered teasingly in his ear. “Did you miss me, pet?”

Spike’s hand wandered down Xander’s chest to his jeans, fingers tracing the outline of his cock.

“I see you did.”


	5. Chapter 5

Xander stood as still as if the hand lazily tickling him was a tarantula. Huskily, his voice emerging in a tense whisper, he said, “Back off.”

The hand continued to roam, the arm around his neck tightened. Xander closed his eyes and prepared to die. He’d have to fight first of course, but he didn’t have much doubt about the outcome. Before a strategy could even form in his mind, Spike delicately nipped at his neck and he moaned softly, goose bumps springing up on that side of his body. Spike chuckled, satisfied, and released him. “Still fancy me then. Good. It’ll make it easier on you.”

Xander turned around and glared at Spike. “I’m not even going to ask what you mean by that because it’s disturbing enough without the details.”

Spike considered him for a moment, standing relaxed with his hands in his coat pockets, just a friendly neighborhood vampire out for a stroll. “Does this mean it’s all over between us now you’re human again? I’m deeply hurt.”

Xander felt his hands curl into fists, nails digging deeply into his palms. “You seem to know I’m not possessed anymore. You can’t think I’m still interested in doing anything but stake you.” Spike’s eyebrows rose in an eloquent commentary on just how that could be interpreted and Xander flushed. “With a wooden stake. Through the heart. So you turn to dust,” he clarified.

Spike pouted, the full lower lip pushing out. He looked wistful but his eyes were full of deviltry, brimming over with mockery. “That how you treat all your dates? No wonder you were so...pure.”

Xander’s fist lashed out and swept through air. Spike had simply faded backwards, avoiding the blow easily. Xander stumbled and caught his foot, falling forward. Spike let him fall, looking down at the sprawled figure with detached amusement. He didn’t offer Xander a hand this time and Xander struggled to his feet, rubbing a bruised knee with a grazed hand.

Spike’s nostrils flared and Xander found himself wondering if the vampire could tell that his palms were bleeding slightly. That was creepy.

“I’m leaving town tomorrow night,” Spike said abruptly. “Got what I came for and I’m going back to get Dru ready for the journey.”

Despite himself, Xander was curious. He remembered Spike rambling on about his girlfriend being sick but to his possessed mind it had seemed unimportant and he’d tuned out a lot of it. “You’ve got some medicine or something?”

Spike shrugged. “Not exactly. Got a few leads on what she’ll need but nothing definite yet. No, what I really wanted was to know I could bring her here safely. Seems she’ll heal better here. Might be all she needs. A holiday on the Hellmouth.” His voice broke slightly as he mentioned Drusilla but he recovered his poise at once. “The Master can be a funny bugger sometimes. Took a bit of slaughter to get him smiling but I can be very charming when I want.” He smiled at Xander, inviting agreement. “Can’t I?”

Xander swallowed. Spike’s voice was affecting him as much as it had done before. Images flashed through his mind: pale limbs splayed out against the dark blue sheets, blue eyes misted over with tears, a damp towel rubbing fleeting warmth into a cool body... “Yes,” he said honestly. “But I’m guessing ninety percent of the time you can’t be bothered.”

Spike grinned. “Maybe. Aren’t you curious who I slaughtered?”

Sickness spread through Xander and any arousal he’d felt fled in the face of the reminder that he had shared more than sex with Spike. They’d done lunch.

Spike cocked his head to the side, watching the emotions flicker over Xander’s face like cloud shadows over grass. “Might have been your hyena pals. They left enough scent behind in my room for me to know them, track them down.” Xander’s eyes flickered with a shamed relief. His four pack mates hadn’t been in school but he’d assumed the police had them. That was one of the first lessons you learned in Sunnydale. You didn’t talk about the ones who went missing. Did he want them to be dead so that no one would find out that he could remember what happened? Was he really that selfish? “Or it could have been one of your other friends.”

Xander stepped forward and shoved Spike roughly. “Tell me. Stop playing games.”

Spike laughed at him. “Don’t worry, they were minions. Thinned the herd a bit. Did him a favour. He gets bored of the same old faces. Unless they’re as good looking as mine, of course.”

“You really do think you’re something, don’t you?”

“Yes.” The word ‘duh’ hung unspoken in the air.

Silence fell and Xander wondered what to do. Back away slowly and run home, where he’d be safe? He frantically tried to remember if he’d ever said anything to Spike that qualified as an invitation home. “So - you’re happy, I’m human again, let’s just forget you played with your food and I promise never to mention it either.”

Spike studied him. “You can’t forget it, can you?” he said quietly.

“Well, it’s only been a day. I think parts are fading though. In fact there’s one school of thought that says you lose all memories of times when you’re possessed. I think it’s worth considering, taking on board-”

“No. You don’t forget your first taste of blood. Ever.”

Xander looked at him. A car went by, the engine noise fading away and leaving them locked in silence again on the empty street. “It’s not the blood I’m having trouble forgetting,” he said, the words pulled from him.

Spike’s eyes widened. “Go on,” he said, his voice calm and reassuring. It had the opposite effect. Xander felt bewildered at the sudden change from flippancy to sympathy and was about to take refuge in a joke when he saw the tension along the line of Spike’ jaw. The vampire was nervous?

“What we did was, I mean it wasn’t what I expected. I like girls. I’m not –”

“Oh, spare me!” Spike said. “Do I look like a therapist or a friendly bloody ear?”

“No.”

“What do I look like?” Spike demanded, grabbing Xander and pulling him towards him in one violent, possessive movement.

Xander was so close he couldn’t see anything but Spike’s eyes. With a doomed feeling, he told the truth again. It was getting to be a really bad habit. It brought him nothing but trouble. “My worst nightmare.”

Spike chuckled. “That’ll do.”

He didn’t even have to move to kiss Xander. Somehow the gap between their lips was so small that when Xander opened his lips to reply, he brushed against Spike’s mouth. Instant lust. Knee buckling, intense, crippling lust. Xander felt it pour over him as though someone had a bucket of the stuff poised above his head. His brain was drenched in it, losing all ability to think coherently. His hands were soaked in it, grabbing at clothing, pulling and tugging, trying to reach that cool, hard body. His cock got what was left, absorbing it, springing to life, quivering and eager.

Spike pulled back his head, hissing with frustration. “Why is it always outside when you come on to me?”

Xander felt the exhilaration recede and sanity creep in. Spike saw his expression change and shook his head. “No. Not again. You come with me and we finish this tonight.”

“I can’t. Not with you. Not with a vampire.”

Spike’s hand reached down between them and caressed Xander’s erection. “Want to have regrets for something you did instead of something you missed?”

“Prefer to have no regrets at all, really,” Xander gasped.

“I can do that too,” Spike said casually.

“Huh?” Spike moved away a little and hauled something small and glittery out of his pocket. It looked like a silver marble. “What’s that?”

“Memory charm. Set for me. Got it today from someone who owes me from the last time I was in town.”

Xander frowned, intrigued. “What does it do?” he asked.

Spike smiled slowly, watching Xander’s face for a hint of his feelings. “Once it’s activated it’ll wipe out any memory of me. You’ll lose from the time we met in the alley to when you left the room and from just now to whenever we’re finished.”

Xander shook his head. “That’s impossible,” he said, certainty in his voice.

“No, just magic. Pretty fancy magic though. A memory spell - that’s simple. Specific memories though - that’s harder. Cost me.”

“You said you called in a favour.” Xander objected.

Spike pushed up the sleeve on his coat, exposing a curved symbol carved deeply into the flesh. “The spell needed to know who I was to work,” he explained. “Needed my blood.”

Xander shuddered. Even for a vampire that had to have hurt. His thoughts raced. He was tempted by Spike – no point in denying that - and his hyena experiences were too close for him not to feel drawn to gratifying his desires rather than ignoring them. The thought of losing the memory of feeding on human flesh was a definite plus. He stood thinking as Spike sighed impatiently and then nodded, not meeting the vampire’s eyes. “I’ll do it.”

The words slipped out easily, catching him by surprise. He seemed to have lost his caution and his fear of consequences. He wondered if the spell to reverse the possession had really worked. This wasn’t like him. He was Xander, vampire hater. It was burned into him the first time he’d seen one of the creatures and seen what they could do. They were cockroaches and he was friends with the exterminator.

Then he looked at the vampire in front of him and the scared hatred fell away, leaving only the fascination and the hungry desire.

Spike tossed him the charm. “Here. You keep it. Just need to activate it when you’ve had enough and I’m out of sight.”

Xander looked at him in surprise. He’d expected Spike to hold on to it as a way of keeping him under his control. Then he remembered how Spike had stopped himself in the bathroom. The memory steadied him. He didn’t trust the vampire, not really, but he didn’t fear him either. Maybe that wasn’t a good thing.

“Activate it how?”

“Swallow it.”

“I’m not swallowing it! It could be poison or something,” Xander protested.

Spike grinned. “Don’t worry. I had them make it cherry flavour just for you.”


	6. Chapter 6

It didn’t take long to walk to Spike’s room. Nowhere in Sunnydale was far from anywhere else. Xander might have wished the walk took longer, but the silence that had fallen as they moved away from his house was so nerve wracking that he found himself hurrying instead. The route took them to a part of the town that he didn’t know well. Alleyways that seemed to be dead ends turned out to have small openings, leading into a labyrinth of narrow streets with doors that did their best to look like part of the walls. Not many windows. The last time he’d come here he’d been so overwhelmed by his first taste of blood that he hadn’t really paid attention. His instincts had carried him out of the maze safely then but he wasn’t sure he could retrace his steps as a human.

Shadows and faint noises combined to make him on edge. He sensed that as they walked people were moving out of their path only to reappear behind them, tracking them as though Spike were the Pied Piper. He wanted to turn around but the first time he tried, Spike’s hand shot out, gripping his arm. “Never look back,” he said. “It doesn’t help, believe me.”

The shadowy entourage melted away as they reached the steps leading down to Spike’s room and Xander sighed with relief. Spike looked at him curiously. “Don’t come here much, then?”

Xander shook his head. “I’ve lived here all my life and never realised the truth until I met Buffy.”

“What’s that then?”

Xander looked at him. “The demons are at the heart of this town. It’s theirs, isn’t it?”

Spike shrugged. “It’s on the Hellmouth. What did you expect?”

He opened the door and Xander walked inside for the third time. An old saying flashed across his mind. Third time’s the charm.

He pushed the door closed and turned to face Spike. The vampire had shed his coat, throwing it carelessly across a chair. He stood, relaxed and confident, a smile tugging his lips upwards. Xander watched him suspiciously. “Relax, mate,” Spike drawled. “Got my word I won’t hurt you.”

“Pity you didn’t give me that last time,” said Xander.

The smile vanished and Spike looked almost troubled. He walked to Xander, slid his hands under the collar of his shirt and then began to unbutton it. Xander stood still as Spike slipped the shirt back over his shoulders and down his arms, gathering it in one hand and tossing it aside. Spike’s eyes travelled slowly over Xander’s chest and arms and then he walked around to study Xander’s back. Xander bit his lip as he felt fingers trail gently across his skin, following the livid bruises that he had glimpsed in the mirror but had been too sore to twist enough to see properly.

“Did I do these?” Spike asked, his tone neutral.

Xander turned to face him. “No. Well, some, maybe. Mostly below the waist are from you. The ones you can see are mainly from Buffy.”

“The Slayer hit you? Why? Thought you were mates.”

Xander met his eyes. “We are. That’s why when I tried to rape her she let me live.”

Spike looked startled and then nodded understandingly. “When you were still possessed.” Xander didn’t bother answering. “She’s a forgiving type for a Slayer. You can count yourself lucky.”

Xander’s voice was bitter. “Oh, I do, believe me.”

Spike pursed his lips. “Time grows short. Do you want to talk yourself into tears or fuck until you scream for more?”

Xander gaped at him, struck by the brutal simplicity of the question. “I want to ...” His voice faded, unable to form the words and give them substance, and his eyes pleaded for help.

Spike waited in silence and then seemed to relent. “Tell you what,” he said. “I wouldn’t let you stay in cuffs before but this time I’ll help you out.”

“Y-you’re going to tie me up?” Xander asked, his voice blending fear and fascination in equal quantities.

Spike shook his head. “No need.” He took Xander’s face between his hands and kissed him, a searching, lingering kiss that left Xander gasping. Spike pulled away and laid a finger on Xander’s warm mouth, tracing the outline of his lips, dragging his cool finger across the moist skin. “Sshh...” he said. “No more words until I say you can speak. You can moan, you can whimper, you can cry out, you can scream, but no words. Do you understand?” Xander nodded. “Good boy. See; now you can’t argue or persuade me not to do what I’m going to do. It’ll all be the fault of the nasty, evil vampire.”

Xander heard the faint disappointment lurking behind the mockery and wanted to say something, take back the responsibility for his actions, follow through for once in his life. Loathing at his own cowardice swept through him and he looked up, only to see Spike’s knowing eyes. He had been tricked into guilty obedience as a punishment for wavering. Anger, hot and raw, replaced his self loathing.

“Don’t be like that,” said Spike. “Any time you want to stop being a wuss, you know what to do. You’ll have to take the consequences of course.” He shook his head, like a dog shaking off rainwater, and his vampire face emerged. “Do I need to spell them out?”

Xander found that his teeth were clenched so hard together to stop the words from pouring out that his jaw was aching.

“Enough. I want you naked by the time I am. Don’t make me wait.” Spike’s voice was easy, even friendly, and his face was human again, but Xander didn’t trust either tone or appearance. He reached for his belt buckle and then hesitated. Spike had skinned off his T shirt in one shrugging movement, not hurrying but not lingering either. He sat down on the bed and reached down to undo his boots, giving Xander a curious upward glance as the boy stood unmoving. Xander swallowed. Moving slowly he walked towards Spike, fell to his knees and brushed Spike’s hands away, taking over the task of unfastening his boots.

“You do that and I’ll beat you,” Spike murmured, managing to cram more alternate meanings into seven words than Xander had ever thought possible.

Ignoring him, Xander pulled off first one boot and then the other, placing them neatly to the side. Spike’s bare feet were like the rest of his body; elegant and fined down. He sat back and pushed himself up, watching as Spike copied him. They unbuckled belts, eased down zippers and stepped out of jeans. Spike stood naked; Xander had managed to pull his shorts down with his jeans but still had socks on. Spike began to count aloud and panic, unreasoning and terrifying, tore through Xander as he stood awkwardly on first one foot and then the other, trying to yank off his socks. It wasn’t dignified but he managed it as Spike reached nine.

“Going to make you wish you hadn’t done that,” said Spike, coming so close as he spoke into Xander’s ear that the words themselves reached out to tickle against his skin. “Nine...that’s a lot. Brace yourself.”

He took Xander’s arms and pushed them back, making him lock his hands together in the hollow of his spine. “Don’t move. Not even a little bit.”

Xander closed his eyes, waiting for the blows, the pain. He was hard but he had been since the door closed and locked him in with Spike. “Eyes open, love. You can give me that much at least.” The voice flicked at him, stinging and goading. Xander wasn’t sure how Spike had known that his eyes were closed but he opened them obediently and stared ahead through tear –blurred eyes. Spike appeared in front of him, startling him. He frowned, puzzled, and then gasped as Spike knelt and cupped his balls in one hand, the other gripping the base of his cock firmly. Xander felt exposed and vulnerable and unbearably aroused all at once. Spike leaned forward and began to lick the head of Xander’s cock, gentle, smooth licks that covered every square centimetre with agonising precision. Nine licks, the last one with Spike’s tongue darting inside the slit of the head, making Xander’s hips thrust forward helplessly. The touch was too tightly focused to be anything other than tantalising. It left Xander so hard it hurt. Spike stood, his face absorbed, and leaned in to kiss Xander’s mouth, that clever tongue flickering against his in a deliberate echo of his previous action. Spike’s arms were around him now, his hands roving, roaming, reaching out. Xander ached with the need to touch him back but kept his hands in place, determined not to let Spike win.

They stood like that for endless minutes, Xander a living statue, motionless, unable to respond with anything but his parted lips. Spike rarely kissed them, lavishing his attentions on every part of Xander’s body but his mouth, standing or stooping, kissing each bruise and scratch, licking and biting, scratching softly until Xander’s body was alive with sensation, screaming out with need.

“And that was nine minutes,” said Spike suddenly. “You did well, pet.”

The praise and the affectionate tone were as painful as the blows would have been. Trembling with reaction, Xander bent his head down, the tears beginning to fall. Spike’s hand slid under his chin and raised his head. “Move now,” he said. “And talk if you like.”

“You manipulative bastard!” Xander screamed, bringing his fists around to slam into Spike’s body. Spike let them land on him, wrapping his arms around Xander in an unbreakable embrace. Xander tried to push him away, failed, tried to carry on punching him and couldn’t. They stood for a moment and then the rage ebbed and Xander kissed Spike as he had done in the street, with open, avid lips.

They landed on the bed, in a tangle, desperately trying to have as little space between them as possible, legs scissored, arms pulling each other together so tightly that they couldn’t move or caress, could only kiss until they tasted the same. The kisses moved from frantic to feather light and the grips loosened, letting them fall apart like paper peeled from a candy bar.

They were both hard, their cocks touching as they shifted position, the slight friction almost too much for Xander. Spike, with over a century of lessons in control at his back, couldn’t resist teasing him, running a finger slowly from root to tip and then wrapping his hand around its length, squeezing it firmly before flexing his wrist up and down with a languid, practised motion. Xander’s head went back and he made a sound too visceral to be coherent. “Do that again and I won’t be able to –”

Spike wriggled down the bed, did it again with his tongue in just the right place and dealt with the result without spilling a drop.

“Too...fast,” complained Xander in a breathless whisper.

Spike shrugged. “Want to bet I can’t get you hard again?”

“No. I don’t bet on certainties. My Uncle Rory taught me that.”

“Clever man.” Spike murmured, kissing his way back up until his face was level with Xander’s. “In the minute or two until you’re ready to go again, suppose we think about me? If I remember last time, you owe me.” His eyes flashed from summer sky to setting sun so quickly that Xander blinked in confusion.

Guilt swamped pleasure and he nodded. “I was going to make a very predictable joke about giving you a helping hand but I’ll make that a little more –” He hesitated, lost for words, and then said simply, “Any way you want it, Spike. You choose.”

Spike growled and changed, the demon fighting its way to the surface. “You sure about that, Xander?”

Xander kept his eyes open and his face calm as he leaned forward to kiss the fanged mouth. Spike waited until he was sure Xander wasn’t going to flinch and let the vampire face sink back. Xander paused then and whispered, “Why did you do that? I would have done it.”

“That’s why,” said Spike. “Oh, there’re plenty of humans who get a kick out of doing it with us in game face the whole time but I don’t figure you for one. Just don’t forget, Xander. Don’t trust me.”

“Choose,” Xander said flatly, ignoring the warning.

Spike studied him for one long moment and then nodded. He twisted around and opened the drawer in the table by the bed, pulling out a tube. Xander guessed what it was and tensed without thinking. Spike paused and raised an eyebrow. “Second thoughts?”

“About a hundred but don’t let that stop you. Really.”

Spike tossed the tube to Xander. “Then you go first and see how it’s done.”

Xander weighed the tube in his hand, not meeting Spike’s eyes. He flicked the top and squeezed a little out onto his fingers, rubbing them together experimentally. Raising his fingers to his nose, he sniffed and then examined the tube again. “’Wild Cherry?” he asked incredulously. “Have you ever heard the saying, ‘funny once’?”

Spike grinned. “I’ll move you up to chocolate raspberry if you like.”

Xander shook his head in disbelief, closed the tube and pushed Spike onto his back. He found that what he had on his fingers was enough to cover Spike’s cock. “I meant you could have me first, you know. Or do you need a refresher course in what goes where?” asked Spike, watching Xander’s fingers sliding over his erection and shuddering slightly with need.

“Nope,” Xander replied, flicking open the tube and handing it to Spike again. “But I think I’ll let you take it from here.”

Spike shrugged. He’d given Xander enough chances and he was too aroused to stop now. Xander swallowed and rolled onto his stomach, spreading his legs slightly. Spike looked at him with a lust that would have terrified Xander if he’d seen it and slipped a slick finger into Xander, gently, carefully until Xander’s legs were wider and his back arching into the bed. When he had taken three fingers, Spike paused. Xander was as ready as he would ever be but he didn’t know whether to leave him like this or give himself the pleasure of watching Xander’s face as he took him. Xander moaned and Spike’s control snapped. Before Xander had chance to panic, Spike had pushed against his opening and slid home in a series of gentle but forceful nudges. Xander cried out but Spike knew what pain sounded like and this wasn’t it. Biting his lip, he rocked slightly, feeling Xander clench around him. He began to move, a series of long, slow thrusts that had Xander’s hands clutching at the sheets as the sensation stopped being an intrusion and became pure pleasure. Spike’s movements increased in speed, his hands on Xander’s hips, holding him still, not letting him push back. “Take it,” he said, “Take it like I did.”

Xander’s eyes were squeezed shut, his world shrunk to the bed, the feel of the bunched up sheets in his fists, against his knees, the nails digging into his flesh and the relentless presence within him. He was sharing his body with someone else and for a moment he wasn’t lonely or left out. He heard a mewling sound and recognised, dimly, that it came from him. Spike’s hand slapped against his backside, stinging and sharp. “ _Now_ you can move. Show me what you’ve got, pet. Scream for me.”

One last surge of defiance as his body responded. “Make me,” Xander panted.

“Well, since you asked so nicely –”


	7. Chapter 7

The early morning sun illuminated Sunnydale and Xander stirred, the drowsiness that had held him motionless for hours sliding off him, leaving him chilled and exposed. He was lying sprawled across the bed, his leg hooked over Spike’s and one hand resting on his chest. His hand lay shielding the place Buffy would aim for and the thought made him feel both protective and guilty. Pushing the confusion aside, he squinted at a clock on the bedside table. He had a few hours before school. He really had to go home and pretend that he’d got in late, rather than not at all. He wondered sourly if his parents had even noticed that he was missing.

Spike lay sleeping, his face turned away from Xander, the sheets, so dark against his candle-pale body, pulled up to his waist. Even looking at him made Xander feel a baffled, aching longing. He was exhausted, his body a living record of the hours of sometimes brutal sex, but he knew that if Spike turned and reached out his hand, his body would rouse and respond.

It was the most frightening thought he’d ever had.

He wanted to wash, to eat, to brush his teeth, to restore normality to his world. He’d showered in the night but it hadn’t been quite the same. He’d never showered lying down in a wide, long tub, being teased and tickled by a judiciously aimed jet of water. It had turned into a bath, with Spike tipping in a generous dollop of bath gel that foamed up and over the sides of the bath. Spike, covered in bubbles, with his sleek hair spiked up by Xander’s fingers, had looked so human, so young...then Xander had thoughtlessly told him to look in the mirror and his face had hardened as he cupped his hands in the water and smoothed his hair down again.

Xander had done things he’d never heard of during the dark hours, had used his hands, mouth and ass to give Spike pleasure and taken satisfaction in every gasp and moan he’d forced past those cool lips. He’d been guided and instructed by someone incapable of shame, skilled and unpredictable. Spike had shown him what a thousand fevered dreams had only hinted at, shown him with a lack of self consciousness that had drawn and demanded the same from Xander.

He had hurt Xander sometimes, forgetting that the body writhing beneath him was human, not vampire. His body was mottled with small dark bruises left by Spike’s finger tips. Only once, though, had Spike hurt him deliberately, when Xander, goaded by Spike’s sulky silence after they left the bathroom, had mentioned Drusilla. Spike had turned on him, game face on and bent Xander backwards, his fangs at his throat. He had kept him like that, lying face up across his knee, painfully arched, one arm holding him pinned, the needle pointed teeth grazing his flesh, kept him while his free hand worked Xander’s cock mercilessly, forcing it to respond. When Xander had come finally, Spike taking care that none of it touched him, he had been pushed contemptuously to the floor. Spike had stalked to the bed and flung himself down, his face expressionless.

Xander had returned to the bathroom, cleaned up the splatters of come from his body and leaned against the basin, breathing slowly. Then he filled up a jug with icy water, walked over to the bed and tipped it over Spike. The sight of Spike leaping to his feet, outrage and disbelief making him splutter incoherently had been enough to make Xander giggle helplessly. Spike was restrained from biting him, less because of his promise, more because – well, once couldn’t eat someone when they were laughing so hard the tears were rolling down their face. Just wouldn’t feel right. He settled for giving Xander rug burns and then making him strip and remake the bed.

Now it was over. Xander eased himself free of Spike and went into the bathroom. When he came out, Spike was sitting up, looking sleepy and with a hint of wariness in his eyes. Xander nodded to him and picked up his clothes, getting dressed quickly. Spike watched him cover up the body he’d explored so thoroughly and did nothing to stop him.

Xander couldn’t just walk out into the sunlight without saying something but looking at the silent watcher made his mind narrow down to a single thought and somehow he knew that if he voiced it he would never leave.

“I –have to go now,” he said finally. “I wish –”

“No, you don’t,” said Spike. “You were fun but it’s over. Push off now, O.K?”

The bored disinterest in his voice slashed Xander bone deep, driving him speechless from the room and into the dazzle of daylight, allowing him to find his way through the empty streets with eyes too aching with tiredness and unshed tears to pay attention to his surroundings. Without thinking about it, he made his way home, stumbling up the stairs to his room and falling forward onto his unmade bed. The sheets smelled musty and stale as he used them to soak up the tears that had lost patience with waiting to be shed. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried but he thought it had been for much the same reason – a sense of bewildered loss. Oh, yes. His father had given away his pet rabbit, letting him come home from school to find the empty hutch on the sidewalk waiting for the garbage men. His frantic sobbing had earned him a slap from his father and an impatient, fleeting hug from his mother. He hadn’t bothered to cry again after that.

Rolling over onto his back, Xander stared up at the ceiling, the tears drying on his face, their job done. He was calm now as his fingers slid inside his pocket and pulled out the charm.

The sunlight slanted through the window and struck the silver surface, spinning off in a prismatic display that made Xander blink. His hand moved towards his mouth and the scent of cherries filled the room. His thoughts caught at something half heard in his dreams, something Spike had whispered, when he’d been too sleepy to respond.

“’My only love, sprung from my only hate.’”

‘Love’? His hand fell back.

***

New Orleans. Saturday.

Spike stood outside Drusilla’s room, curtly questioning the vampire who had been caring for her while he was away.

“So she’s been eating then? Good. She’ll need her strength. Bring me someone fresh. I’m not going out again tonight and I’m hungry.”

The vampire nodded and walked away, leaving Spike staring at the door. In his hand was a gift for his princess – a necklace the Master had given to him, studded with garnets like little drops of blood. He allowed himself a moment longer, touching the memories with a gentle hand, savouring each sound, each glance, each caress, regretting nothing but the last look of hurt as the boy left. No, not even that. Then he opened his hands and let them fall away.

“Could never hurt you, Dru,” he murmured to himself just before he pushed open the door.

Drusilla was sitting up in bed, her cheeks a delicate pink, still frail, still fading, but with an eager, tremulous smile on her lips. “Spike! I knew you would come back today. I felt you moving to me, so fast.” Her face fell. “Did you see him? Did you meet him?”

“The Master was kind, my sweet. Eventually. Here – he sent you this.” Spike laid the necklace across the white blanket, expecting Drusilla to catch it up in delight. Instead she ignored it, pouting at him.

“You know I don’t mean him! The boy, the betrayer...tell me.”

Her voice was sharp and Spike frowned, puzzled. “Don’t know what you mean, love. What boy?”

Drusilla looked at him with quick suspicion, her fingers fluttering out to touch him and bring him closer. Concentrating, her eyes veiled with long lashes, she delved into his mind, peevishly stabbing and prodding and then looked at him with surprised pleasure. “You didn’t betray me...It didn’t matter but I think I’m glad you didn’t. I would have had to kill him and that would have been tiresome.”

Spike shook his head, smiling indulgently. “Dru, love, there’s only you. Only ever will be you. Now don’t I get a kiss?”

He leaned in to kiss her, gently brushing her pale lips with his.

“You taste of cherries,” she murmured drowsily, snuggling back down.

 

***

Sunnydale School. September 29 1997

Xander struggled in Angel’s grasp as he was dragged towards Spike, an unwilling prop in his plan to infiltrate the besieged school. His thoughts were chaotic, desperate. Since he’d heard that Spike was back he’d known this meeting was inevitable but this wasn’t quite how he’d imagined it. As Angel grabbed his hair, yanking on it to expose his neck, thrusting him at Spike, he waited for the moment when the ice blue eyes would warm with recognition and he would be exposed as the traitorous, perverted, addicted, besotted fool he was. He looked up at Spike, twisting his head awkwardly, and slowly the fear, the anticipation and the terror drained from him leaving - nothing.

The blue eyes were empty of recognition. It wasn’t an act; Spike wasn’t protecting him. He just didn’t know him. Throughout the fight that followed, and the lonely walk home, Xander clung to one thought, letting it set the rhythm of his steps, letting it carry him along. The words drummed endlessly in his mind until they lost all meaning, all sense.

“Tonight. I’ll take it tonight.”

He knew he wouldn’t.

The End


End file.
